


Rescuing Damsels for Dummies

by Yalu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crack, Dragons, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Shrek (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: Prince Dean and Prince Sam of the Kingdom of Lawrence set out on an Epic Quest to rescue Princess Jessica from a dragon-guarded tower.Cracky and inspired by the style of Shrek.





	Rescuing Damsels for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by Shrek, especially the locations (since a castle balanced above a lava lake was a bit much I swapped it for an underground coal fire) and the anachronistic language. Don't take anything seriously!
> 
> Written for my au: fairy tale/myth tropes bingo square.

Once Upon a Time  
in the Kingdom of Lawrence...

 

It was a magnificent day: The sky was blue as sapphires, the grass was green as emeralds and, stopped upon on the Queen's Road on their way to the kingdom's border, Crown Prince Dean, his armour shining in the sun, stood beside his coal-black steed, the famed warhorse Impala, as she crapped on the road.

"There you go, baby, get it all out," he said, clapping her on the neck. "Don't want to leave any traces where we're going."

Beside him, Prince Samuel shook his head and swung his leg up to mount his own horse, Stanford, careful not to catch his scabbard as he settled. "I don't know why you bother talking to her, Dean. It's not like she understands what's happening."

Dean put on a look of outrage and reached up to cover Impala's ears (she flicked them away and bumped his chest with her nose). "It's okay, baby, Sammy's just mean sometimes. It's not like it's _his_ princess you're helping us rescue, is it? Nu-uh."

Impala nudged him again, and Dean grinned, taking it as agreement. Sam scowled.

"This isn't a time to joke, Dean. Princess Jessica has been missing for a _month_. She could be hurt, or worse."

"If she's lasted this long she's probably not in immediate danger," Dean recited (for the third time), checking his saddlebags and the shield on his back. "But all of her father's knights and most of ours have already searched both kingdoms, Sammy. Twice. And they're still looking beyond the borders. You've got to prepare for the worst."

"If she's being held captive in that awful place, that _is_ the worst," Sam snapped, and dug his heels into his mount. Stanford took off at a gallop, kicking up a cloud of dust for Dean to choke on. He turned his face into Impala's mane until the worst of it settled. 

"C'mon, baby," he muttered, mounting, "let's show them who's _really_ queen of this road."

Impala nickered, shook her mane, and leapt forward. They caught up with Sam inside of a minute, and raced past, grinning as they dashed straight towards the only place left unsearched in their quest to rescue Jessica, Princess of the Kingdom of Moors: the Crackedlands.

 

It was almost night by the time they arrived, of course. Scorched, smouldering wastelands are never as ominous in broad daylight. Burnt tree trunks and rolling grey smog were just part of the standard décor. 

Sam and Dean had approached from upwind, so the smell didn't hit until they were almost over the first fiery crack in the earth, and if Impala had been any slower backing up, Dean would have been in them.

"Holy-! Whoa, whoa, baby, it's okay, it's okay," he said, tugging back on the reins and smoothing her mane. "We'll go around."

Stanford, being stubborner (and, Dean insisted, stupider) than Impala, hadn't backed up but shifted uneasily as Sam got off to lean over and examine the cracks in the earth, small things about three feet long and less than a handspan wide, but the smoke drifting out of them was choking, and when Sam crouched down to touch the ground, he jumped back in surprise. "It's so _hot_. I really didn't believe it. Dean, are you seeing this?"

Dean was seeing just fine, thanks; the faint layer of ash on everything was more than enough to say 'yeah, fire here, come closer!'. He dismounted and took the reins of both horses so Sam could do his scholarly thing. "Did they ever figure out how far the coal seam goes?"

"No, they'd only just started mining it when Grandfather Henry lived here."

"And then the lightning fire."

"And then the lightning fire," Sam nodded. He stood up, absently reassuring Stanford. "It's a shame. Grandfather's journal says this was one of the most beautiful places in Lawrence."

"And it's all yours, second son," Dean teased. He grinned at Sam's dirty look. "C'mon, Castle Winchester won't come to us."

The map their grandfather had made was a perfect guide to what the Crackedlands had looked like back in his day, but most of the landmarks were gone; the outlying villages had been built from straw and timber, and the summer storm which had started the fire had blown half of them away before flames levelled the rest; they'd found one only by stumbling over the stone foundations. All the rest – the cornfields, Oak Grove, everything on the land that had cracked from the heat of the fire – was gone.

"Sam, we've got to wait until morning," Dean said eventually. "Let's find the coolest spot and get some shut-eye."

"No," said Sam, bringing his torch dangerously close to the map as he read.

Dean sighed. "We can't even see the stars. How do you know we're not going in circles?"

"We're _not_."

"Sam–!"

"He's right, you're not," said a voice, and both brothers whipped around, drawing their swords and turning Impala and Stanford to face the figure emerging from the smog.

It was a man in plain clothes, no armour, hands held up in peaceful surrender. He walked beside a small horse with a worn blanket for a saddle, and a series of small leather pouches hung from his belt. Hex bags.

" _Witch_ ," said Sam, tightening his grip on his sword. "What do you want?"

The man's shoulders slumped. "Druid," he corrected quietly. "My name is Castiel. I'm here to help you."

The brothers exchanged a glance. "Why?" Dean asked sharply. "What do you and your people care about Princess Jessica?"

"We seek to help those in need. Noble or commoner," Castiel replied. 

"Yeah, tell that to our father," Dean scowled. Castiel softened. 

"Your father's death was a tragedy my people and I would have prevented if we could. We are not all-seeing, Dean."

"That's _Prince_ Dean to you."

"Of course," the witch replied, but he said it with enough dry condescension to set Dean's teeth on edge. 

Sam stepped in. "Can you help us find Princess Jessica?"

Castiel nodded. "I can show you the way. I have travelled here before; I know where the cracks are too perilous to cross and I can lead you around them. However, the closer to Castle Winchester, the larger they become. It will be dangerous."

"So she _is_ being held there?" asked Sam. "She's alive?"

Castiel nodded. "She is under heavy guard. I can tell you how to get through, but I cannot help. There is powerful magic enchanting the castle which prevents practitioners of light magic from entering."

Sam sheathed his sword and took turned to his brother. Dean grimaced. "Fine! Fine, you can come." He sheathed his sword. "Mount up. You're on point, witch."

Castiel bent slightly, not nearly deep enough for a bow, and led his horse to the nearest blackened stump to mount. Dean shook his head; how could anyone _stand_ not having stirrups?

"It will be almost a day's travel," he said, settling in his seat. "It isn't far as the crow flies but the valley to the northeast is impassable; the cracks have grown and some are spouting fire. The quickest way around is northwest."

"Fine," said Sam, and he handed Castiel his torch. "Let's just go."

"I do have a price."

Dean stopped short. "What happened to 'seek to help those in need'?" he demanded. 

"What happened to loyalty to the Crown?" Sam growled.

"This is to help someone in need. Someone who is also trapped in that castle," replied Castiel. He waited, then, all serene, for the two of them to swallow their outrage. _Son of a whore_ , Dean thought.

"We'll rescue every prisoner in there," he replied haughtily. _See if you can call us cowards, witch._ "Who is it?"

"You can't free her; the binding which holds her is magical. I merely need you to bring me a book: the Codex of Nadya. It was kept in Lord Henry's private collection and should still be there; the library in the west wing is intact. Once I have it I can counter the magic that imprisoned her." He hesitated. "I believe the same magic is what traps Princess Jessica."

Sam frowned. "You think a witch took her? Why?"

"I trust you know of the Red Priests?"

Dean's breath froze in his lungs. _Demons_. 

Beside him, Sam nodded. "They're druids that practice black magic." More than that, they were a cult. Years ago they had attacked Castle Lawrence in the dead of night trying to steal some magical jewel. Dean didn't remember much and Sam had only been a baby, but everyone knew the tale of how Queen Mary, barefoot and alone, had fought off the High Priest Azazel in a duel, leaving him scarred for life. 

Castiel nodded. "They have been gathering in large numbers beyond the borders of the Moors, in the region called Hell. Last month, some of my people saw them enter Castle Winchester, and from that day, we have not been able to enter."

A month ago. Exactly when Jessica had disappeared. Sam's knuckles were white on his torch. "It's a deal, Castiel," he growled. "Now show us the way."

Castiel whispered to his horse, patted its neck, and led on.

 

"So..." Dean looked up... and up... and up... "Any idea where we start?"

Castiel said, "No."

Sam lifted his map, tilting it to make the ink outline of Castle Winchester match what loomed over them. It was... close? At least two towers were missing, and one wall of the keep had caved in, but through the smog up ahead there was still an arch where the sketch of the castle met the sketch of the road.

The actual road... that was a problem.

Sam dismounted and handed Stanford's reins to his brother, patting the nervous horse as he went. The cracks were much bigger here, jagged slices of fire that lit them up from below, filtered through the coal smoke and casting an eerie glow over everything. And making the last stretch of road next to impassable, at least on horseback. There was a small – small! – chance they could make it on foot, if they didn't choke on the smoke.

But Jess was in there, so Sam just went.

Behind him, he could hear Dean swearing as he hurried to dismount Impala. Castiel said, "Wait – take these with you, they'll help," and Sam paused, bracing his feel carefully between two cracks to turn around to see. Castiel was pushing two small cloth bundles into Dean's hands. He recoiled.

"Hex bags?"

"Charms. Light magic. They will conceal you, to a point, from the guard."

At Dean's wary glance, Sam nodded hard, and Dean reluctantly took them. "How do they work?" he asked, sniffing one, and jerked his head back in disgust.

"You need only carry them on your person," said Castiel. "They will divert attention away from you, but only if you are already quiet and hidden to begin with. It's... all I can do." He looked down. 

Dean shuffled awkwardly, trying to touch the bags as little as possible. "Well, uh... thanks. And here's what you can do," he added; he pushed Impala and Stanford's reins into his hands. "You take care of them, you hear? I don't know how long we'll be, and we might have to get out of here in a hurry."

Castiel took them solemnly, nodding. The horses seemed unperturbed, which was... odd, for Impala; she usually made trouble for anyone who wasn't of the royal family, or Bobby, the stablemaster. But Castiel rubbed her nose and she went quietly. 

Sam didn't really have time to care. Mouth covered against the smoke, he waited for his brother, took the charm bag Dean offered, then turned back to the shattered remains of the road and the castle door beyond.

He took a step, and then another, carefully picking his way to the door. 

 

The castle keep was in better shape than the road, if completely terrible by normal standards: The floor was thicker here, built higher off the ground and the burning coal seam beneath, and only a few places had buckled from the heat. Darkness filled it instead, darkness and wisps of smoke, but it was tolerable. Both princes had their swords out already, and Dean took his shield from his back.

There were no guards. Not a soul in sight, and much as he strained his ears Dean couldn't hear a thing. Nothing. No one. So where were the demon priests holding Jessica prisoner?

Sam must've been thinking the same. "Maybe she's in a cell. They'd only need half a dozen men to keep watch in shifts."

"Castiel said there's more than that."

Sam shrugged tightly, keeping his sword up and quietly approaching the next turn in the corridor that branched off the main hall of the keep. If this place was anything like Castle Lawrence, this would be the way to the dungeons. Sam peered around just long enough to be sure it was empty, then hurried on. When Dean caught up to him he said, "I guess we'll find out."

They also had to find that spellbook for Castiel (Dean had shoved the charm bag deep in his rucksack, but he swore he could feel it through the leather; he shuddered to think what a magic _book_ would be like), and tactically it would be smarter to go for the abandoned library first and the guarded prisoner second, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. "Maybe we should split up," he suggested in a low voice. Sam glanced back sharply. Dean raised his hands. "Cover more ground."

"Sure. And where do you think we should start?" Sam said dryly. "Search the place floor by floor, or east to west? And when one of us does find her, how will we find each other again? Or do you plan to mount a one-man rescue mission that might get her killed?"

Dean grit his teeth and backed off. Fine, Jessica first. They'd go back for the damn book later if they had to. Or just kill all the guards. 

Once they found any. 

It took some time, but after a little cat-footing around they spotted a stair leading down and followed it to the old, grimy dungeons where Grandfather Henry had kept the dark witch Abbadon prisoner for thirty years, until he and Father had found a way to kill her.

(Father had always been proud of that: When Dean and Sam were little he'd told them stories of Clan Winchester, and how Grandfather had used sorcery to capture the evildoers terrorising this land, rescuing villages one by one and establishing their small dukedom. That was before Father had married Queen Mary of Lawrence, of course, and their lands had become part of Lawrence.)

The air was stale, and got worse as they descended. Sam started to hurry – imagining Jessica trapped down there, no doubt – but Dean was starting to get that prickle on the back of his neck that said they were barking up the wrong tree. "Sam," he whispered. "Sam, this isn't right."

Sam wasn't so worried that he didn't heed the warning; he slowed and looked back, keeping his sword ready and feet braced for a fight, and waited for Dean to catch up. "I know," he murmured. "There's no footprints."

Dean glanced down; a layer of ash had settled over everything in this place, and he'd been ignoring it so far since the broken walls let in enough wind to blow away any sign of footprints, but here, underground, the wind didn't reach, and the ash was perfectly smooth except for the marks they'd left behind. 

So Jessica probably wasn't being kept here, but Sam would check anyway; he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't. Dean followed, eyes and ears alert for danger, but when they reached the cell blocks and found nothing but more dust, he wasn't surprised.

Sam looked forlorn; a lost, sad, gigantic puppy. "Where else could she be?" he asked softly. "Where else would they keep her?"

Dean shifted his shield back a little so he could squeeze his brother's shoulder. "You know where's hard to get to, Sammy? Really far down, or really far _up_."

Sam went still. "The towers."

"The towers."

 

According to Grandfather's map, there had once been four towers, but now only one was left standing, rising from the northern end of the keep. The hallways to it were blocked by rubble from the collapsed wall and the third, shattered tower, so the princes doubled back to make their way to the kitchen door. 

A dragon was sleeping in the courtyard. 

Sam stopped so suddenly that Dean walked right into him, stumbled, swore, stepped back – and swore again. 

"That's... a dragon," said Sam. "An actual dragon."

Dean blinked, staring. Slowly he started to chuckle. "Guess we know what 'heavy guard' means now, huh?" he grinned. Sam ignored him, tilting his head up.

"Look," he said, pointing; up above the coal smoke there was a faint light, too dim to be the moon, too high to be fire. It was a window, lit from behind curtains. Sam let out a sigh of relief. "She's all right. They _are_ keeping her alive. To bargain with, you think?"

"Did you miss the part where there's a _dragon_ guarding the only way up?"

Sam hesitated, bringing his attention back down to their huge, scaly black problem. "It's asleep?" he offered weakly.

"Yeah, because any respectable demon priest would be stupid enough to enchant a monster to do his bidding but _sleep through_ any rescue attempt. Sure."

Grimacing, Sam tapped Castiel's charm bag on his belt. "Then I guess we have to hope these work, don't we?"

Dean rolled his eyes so hard he almost felt them knock back into his skull. 

"Or we could kill it," said Sam, and okay, that sounded a little better, but...

"How?" 

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. "Let's go around."

The dragon was lying on its belly, chin tucked on its front feet and tail curled up by its side. It looked sort of like a cat, he decided – a scaly cat so big that Dean could have stood on tiptoe and barely been level with its eyes. The courtyard could barely hold it; its shoulder was pressed up hard against the west wall and there was almost no clearance between the east side and its spine. Its spiky, spiky spine. And then there was the tail. Tail could be a problem. It was twitching.

They stepped _very_ carefully. 

It almost worked, too. Dean wasn't willing to stow his shield as they went, and for all that Sam would yell at him later, Dean maintained it was the smart choice – dragons breathe _fire_ , if you hadn't noticed. 

Turned out he was right, but not because of the fire. 

Sam was in the lead, Dean following, both walking sideways with their backs pressed against the east wall. With every breath the dragon took, the spikes on its spine moved that much closer to impaling them. At most there was about an arm's length of clearance, but at worst, less than a handspan, and each of those spikes was easily as tall as a man, so taking it slow? Good idea.

As they moved further along and the view behind them became as thorny as the view ahead, Dean swallowed hard and fought the urge to protect his face with his shield. It wouldn't do any good – he had to _see_ – but it felt like those spikes were getting bigger and, worse, up ahead huge leathery wings were folded loosely, half settled on the ground against the wall.

Dean's mistake, if you could call it that, was craning his neck to see how much foot space they'd have to get past the wings: His arm tilted and scraped the edge of his shield on the stone. Loudly.

Sam barely had time to whip his head around with his _you IDIOT_ scowly face on before the massive bulk before them shifted and rose, lifting those terrifying spines away from them and setting down a massive claw in a cloud of dust. It was facing away, and for a few precious heartbeats they could see its long neck swinging as it looked around for the source of the noise. Then it saw them.

"ATTACK!" bellowed Sam, and he raised his sword and charged at the stretch of naked wing still spread across the ground. "For Princess Jessica!"

Yeah, that seemed like the best idea.

Dean grimaced and ran after him, unsheathing his sword and slashing blindly at the wing as he went. Wings were the best target; thinnest skin, hard to miss, and once they'd hobbled it enough it wouldn't be able to fly after them; all they'd have to do would be to get out of the courtyard.

Yeah, easy. Sure. 

Dean slashed, missed, slashed again and hit, but his sword skidded off the leathery wing. The dragon was shuffling awkwardly around to face them, its wings dragging round the circle and sweeping them off their feet. Dean tucked, rolled, got out from under the wing, hefted his sword in both hands, point down – and stabbed.

The tip skittered off the wing, a scrape of metal on stone. 

"Dean! Its hide is swordproof!"

No shit. The dragon was facing them now, its huge eyes fixed on their very little bodies, and Dean swapped tactics. Grabbing Sammy by the arm, he dragged him away from pointlessly hammering at the skin of the wing (the dragon was _laughing_ , he'd swear it) and tucked them into a little alcove that used to be a door. "Now what?"

Dean looked around. The dragon was drawing its wings to its back, out of their impotent reach, rather than charging forward and giving them a chance to circle: It was smart, it knew its mission. Overpowering it was out of the question. So was distracting it. Tricking it? That might be possible. But how?

"We've got to restrain it," said Sam, breathing hard. "We've got to lead it away and keep it from following us back."

Easier said than done. This wasn't an enemy that needed to look for advantages over you and could be lured into traps. Or bribed or threatened or intimidated. It was a guard dog, probably trained to be lethal since it was a puppy on a leash–

Hang on. 

"Sam," he said, "that chandelier in the Great Hall; how big was it?"

Sam frowned, puzzled, no doubt getting the diameter down to the inch from his super memory – then he looked at the dragon's neck and grinned. "Big enough."

The Great Hall was in the main keep, further around the circle than they'd come in; between where they were and the double doors to the Great Hall was a pile of rubble from a collapsed tower. Going around it would be suicide; it tumbled almost halfway through the courtyard. Over was the only choice. 

It looked... stable. Ish. 

The dragon was still watching them, something like amusement in its huge red eyes. Or curiosity. Or lip-licking hunger, who knew? But it was waiting for them to make a move. 

"Run or go slow?" asked Dean. Sam grimaced. 

"Try slow, then run?" he said, and Dean shrugged. 

They stepped out from the alcove and visibly sheathed their swords. Hands up and open, they stepped sideways towards the rubble pile. "Easy! We're going," said Dean. Sam frowned at him. "What? Can't hurt."

The dragon watched them walk. Dean tried to keep his eyes on his feet – a twisted ankle was the last thing they needed – but it was eerie, those huge eyes on them, and he glanced up at it as often as he looked at Sam. 

The top of the pile was level with a window on the second floor, and the room inside looked pretty stable. If they hadn't had a plan, Dean thought, they could've climbed in there and escaped the dragon's creepy gaze that much faster.

Turns out the dragon was smarter than it looked. When Sam, in the lead, went past the glassless hole, its eyes narrowed, and when he started picking his way down the other side, it _roared_. 

Smoke started to seep out of its mouth. Dean had about three seconds to scramble forward, grab Sam, yank his arm out of his shield straps, stand them both on it with his foot jammed into the grip, and kick off, sending them sliding down the rubble pile way faster than they could've safely walked, and out of the way of the jet of flame that blackened the stones where they'd stood.

No way it would have worked if he'd left it strapped to his back. Eat _that_ , Sammy.

They surfed to safety (more or less; the skidding halt wasn't fun, the rug burn as they rolled to a stop on rough stone hurt like a bitch) and made a headlong dash for the doors to the Great Hall, barely ducking inside before flames hit the wood. They kept going, air burning in their lungs, and behind them–

The dragon bowled through the stone, taking most of the archway with it as it shoved its way into the once-cavernous Great Hall. "Guess we – know – what happ– ened to the – castle," Sam panted. "Left!"

They sprang out of the way of the flame jet, leaping over what was left of a table and behind a column. The air ignited around them, raw fire trying to claw its way around the stone, and it was hard to think, so _hot_... Dean's vision blurred and he swayed. When it finally stopped, he found sweat dripping into his eyes and felt his clothes stick to him. 

The old tables had caught fire so there was plenty of light. A quick glance up and around found the chain they needed tied only a few feet away and, with a quick nod, they split, Sam making for the chain and Dean making a show of running to the next pillar as a distraction. He peeked out and grinned at the dragon, waving his sword so it caught the light. "Hey, hot stuff! Come get a piece of _this_!" he shouted. (Across the room he could _hear_ Sam was rolling his eyes.)

The dragon roared and took a breath – it was taking about three or four seconds each time, huh, interesting, could be usef–

Right, running, Running good, fire bad. 

Ow ow ow _HOT_.

He craned his neck: The dragon was clawing its way inside, pushing its shoulders hard into the stone, but there was only so much room. It would collapse the place eventually, but for now the ceiling was holding, as was the iron ring bolted right in the middle. 

Dean waited while the dragon breathed all its flame out trying to get at him (five or six seconds seemed to be its max; definitely useful intel) and as soon as it was done, ran full tilt for a very particular column maybe twelve feet away. He made it barely in time, but now, while the dragon had its neck stretched out towards him, it was perfectly positioned under the chandelier. Across the room, barely visible through flames, Sam grinned. 

A sharp metallic shriek cut through the air as the chain was loosed and the massive chandelier, a huge metal ring, came crashing down on the dragon's head. Startled, it reared, looking up, and the ring slid down its neck to its collar. Sam threw a lever, locking the chain in place. 

"HA! Eat _that_ , you–!"

It lunged, screaming, and Dean threw himself out of the way. 

"MOVE, DEAN!" Sam bellowed. He was still across the room, running down the far wall to where the courtyard door had been. 

"Yeah, yeah..."

A funnel of flame chased him, but the dragon was too used to twisting its neck to aim; now it had to shuffle its huge body, and Dean was faster. He reached the 'door' and started climbing over the bits of masonry that were still settling in the dust. Sam was already over; he reached a hand back and pulled his brother through. 

The courtyard suddenly seemed huge, but the path was clear; they sprinted towards the north tower. Behind them, the dragon's roars choked in fury, and the castle groaned under the strain. It wouldn't hold long. 

The tower door was locked, but the wood was weak, clearly battered by a spiked tail at some point. With the hilts of their swords he and Sam hammered the old wood around the lock till it gave way. 

Behind them, something crumbled, and the dragon's head poked out of the rubble. It swung around, saw them, and _ROARED_.

They wrenched the door open. Dean shoved Sam in, dove through, and Sam slammed the door behind him and– 

They'd just destroyed the lock. Fuck. 

They ran for the stairs. 

Outside, the dragon's roars were cut off by a choking sound and a thud that rattled the earth. The tower shook around them and Dean slipped on a step; Sam caught his arm, hauled him up, kept running. The spiral staircase wrapped around the narrow tower, a few windows flashing by as they climbed, and every fourth one looked over the courtyard. Dean took a precious second to glance out and down– and slowed a fraction. 

The dragon's head was out of the keep, but that was all; it was stuck, leashed by the iron chandelier around its neck. Its forepaws scratched against the flagstones and it strained and roared, spitting fire at the tower, but not far enough; the flames sputtered out a few feet from the wall below them. Dean swore it was glaring at him, and there was no way to know how long it would be stuck, but for now, they were safe.

And with that, his legs turned to jelly. His lungs burned. Sam glanced back, first worried, then angry, then – after Dean flapped a hand vaguely at the window – relieved. "It worked?" he said, sceptical. Dean scowled.

"'Course it _worked_. It was my idea, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. 

Climbing the rest of the steps seemed to take forever, but maybe that was Dean's imagination. Or the bruises, or the burns he hadn't realised were licking up his arms. You know, maybe. 

Sam sprinted up with all the grace of a nymph. Joke was on him though; this door was locked and the wood nowhere near as fragile. Dean made it up just as Sammy finished picking the lock. 

"Jessica? Je–? _Jess_!"

"Sam?"

Dean rounded the corner carefully, peeked, then smirked and walked in. Princess Jessica was at a window, turning away from the scene in the courtyard to face Sam. Dusty, panting, clothes worn and hair singed, Sam looked too big and awkward for the opulent room the Red Priests had locked her in. He fumbled, looking torn between kissing her and begging forgiveness. In the end he remembered his manners: He straightened, knelt, and bowed. "Your Highness. Are you all right?"

"Sam, get up. I'm fine, I'm fine," she said. She wrung her hands and peered out the window again as he straightened, then looked past him to the door. "Prince Dean," she nodded.

"Your Highness," he said. "Ready to get out of here?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, and glanced at the window. "I can't."

Sam almost fell over. "Jess– God, Jess, what did they do to you?"

"Nothing!" she said. "Nothing, I'm fine. They mostly left me alone, but I can't leave yet, not without–" She shook her head. "I need to save my friend. She's trapped here too."

Sam glanced at him. "Castiel's friend?" he said, but Dean had to shake his head.

"We didn't see anyone else here, Princess, and we've looked." Outside, more stone tumbled, and Dean clenched his jaw. "There's no time; we've got to go now."

He reached for Jessica, ready to carry her out if he had to (God knows Sam wouldn't dare), but she backed up to the window. "She's my friend and I'm not leaving her!" said Jessica. 

" _What_ friend?" said Sam.

A deep rumble rose from the courtyard, the groan of tired metal and the shriek of claws on stone. A huge shadow covered the window and the tower shuddered as some very _very_ big feet stomped up beside it. Dean and Sam drew their swords, but the scaled head drawing up to the window was too far away to strike, even when a huge red eye peered inside.

Then it said, "Hi, I'm Meg; I'm a dragon."

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks! I plotted out more but I don't want to write it (if you've seen my track record with WIPs you'll know why). If you want to add to or remix this, go ahead! My worldbuilding is better than my actual writing. For reference:
> 
> Kingdom of Lawrence, Mary's kingdom, seat in Castle Lawrence, includes the Crackedlands where Castle Winchester (formerly the seat of Henry's dukedom) sits. The summer storm that started the coal seam fire and destroyed most of the area may or may not have been the work of demons. John died maybe ten years ago because of something druids could have prevented/cured but weren't around or failed at and Mary and the boys have been cool towards magic users ever since. 
> 
> Kingdom of the Moors: Jess's father's kingdom, allied to Lawrence.
> 
> Hell: Wasteland where the red priests hole up, Lucifer died there ages ago and the whole place stinks of evil.
> 
> Druids: The angels of this verse. Mostly pacifists, but in an asshole way; in a later scene I never finished Cas tells Dean "Meg has spent time with the Red Priests. Her magic is tainted by darkness. Michael would let you run him through and die a martyr before allowing us to assist her."
> 
> Red priests: Dark magic cult, nicknamed "demons" by most people. 
> 
> Witch: gender neutral term for all magical practitioners.
> 
>  
> 
> Here's what I was planning:
> 
> Jess and Meg have become friends but the demons enchanted her with something like Rowena's guard dog spell so that if Jess tries to leave it triggers and she loses her mind and blows fire round the place till Jess is back inside, then remembers nothing. They've already found the book Cas needs but it's enchanted so it can't be read; Meg says they'll have to find a specialist in magical writing, which Cas isn't.
> 
> (Backstory: Meg was raised with the red priests but met Cas and he talked her out of going full initiate, but was a terrible light magic teacher and something he messed up got her captured and dragon'd. He feels super guilty and Meg is pissed. They'll reconcile later. This may have turned into a Megstiel fic or stayed gen. The Cas I picture for this fic leans more to the bee-loving pacifist mental patient.)
> 
> Cas leads them to Lord Crowley, who's not officially a red priest but his mother was part of the cult; Crowley just lounges around with the family money making connections and deals without committing to either side. He offers to read codex and get the spell Cas needs in return for a future favour from Cas; it's a dumb deal to agree to, so of course Cas does it anyway. But it all turns out for nothing because the demons, led by Azazel, crash Crowley's place and capture them all.
> 
> Sam and Dean believed Jess was being held for ransom, but she was bait: They wanted the princes to ransom since Queen Mary has the Jewel of Lilith, a magical whatsit they can use to resurrect the Witch King, Lucifer. Azazel takes Sam to bargain with and leaves the others (including Crowley) locked in Crowley's dungeon under guard. They make a plan and break out, kill all the red priests left behind, and Cas forces Crowley to use up his deal favour in order to escape too. 
> 
> There's no way they'll get to Castle Lawrence in time, the demon army has too big a lead, but they can get back to Castle Winchester, so they do (Crowley nopes out) and Cas breaks the guard dog spell on Meg, but Dean asks if she'd mind staying a dragon a bit longer. She doesn't. She flies them all to Castle Lawrence dragonback (poor Dean is airsick) and they find there's already a battle raging, because Queen Mary has no chill if you threaten her boys. She's leading the fray in full badass battle armour.
> 
> Dean gets Meg to drop him into the demon camp to free Sam, Jess grabs something heavy and beats the crap out of any demons that come near her, and Meg gleefully blows fire and stomps the rest into pulp. Mary duels Azazel again and kills him (he had something to do with John's death) and they destroy the Lilith jewel just in case. 
> 
> Happy ending, Sam and Jess get married and Meg decides to stay a dragon (with Jess as her rider) just 'cause.


End file.
